When You Least Expect It
by samaryley
Summary: Christmas is looking like it will be a big letdown for the Curtis boys, the first year celebrating without their parents.  But circumstances can change, when you least expect it.  One-shot for Christmas 2011.


It was hopeless.

No matter how many hours I worked, no matter how much I tried to put a little bit aside every month, something always came up. Soda needed parts to fix the truck, Pony needed new laces for his track shoes, the front window glass needed to be replaced (Thanks, Two-Bit) and on top of everything, the bills kept coming. I could promise my brothers that the electricity and gas would stay on for Christmas, but that was just about it. Christmas as we had always known it when Mom and Dad were alive was a thing of the past. It was killing me, but there was just no way I could swing presents worth a damn. To be honest, I couldn't see how mom and Dad had ever managed it, either- but somehow they had always made it happen.

I wanted to – Christ, if anyone deserved some happiness in the form of opening up a great surprise after the shit year we'd just had, it was Soda and Pony – but I wasn't Mom and Dad, and I didn't know the secret of how to make it happen.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I was a total failure.

I'd always been the bridge between Darry and Pony – hell, as different as they were, I always seemed to find a way to make them understand how much they meant to each other, and how much they actually had in common, despite all the bickering.

This year, however, things were different. All they did was fight, and it was all I could do to keep them from going at each other all hours of the day. Without Mom and Dad around to find ways to get them to cooperate, it was just me – and I was hardly ever around, what with all the overtime I was working. More often than not, by the time I got home, the two of them were already going at it, and I spent whatever energy I had left after the work day diffusing the situation at home. I'd send Pony off to read, and corral Darry off into his bedroom. Fifteen minutes or so of me rubbing his back, and he was out, thank god.

Then I'd head off to bed. Pony would be already asleep, a book lying on his chest or by his head. I'd toss the book aside and crawl beneath the sheets.

And I'd think.

I'd think about what had become of our family- how my brothers had grown apart and what I could do to fix it. I'd think about Mom and Dad and how much I loved them and missed them. I'd think about Sandy and how much I loved her and wanted to do right by her.

And, lately, I'd think about Christmas. How much it had meant to us all and how hard it would be to celebrate it without our folks. How badly I wanted it to feel like it always had – for us three brothers to work together- Pony helping Mom with the cooking, Darry going with Dad to get the tree, and Mom directing me where to put the decorations while she put endless Christmas records on the record player. Then all of us – Mom, Dad, and us three boys – decorating the tree together.

I missed it. Closing my eyes, against the backdrop of Pony's regular breathing, I tried to relive it- Christmas when Mom and Dad were both still alive to share it with us.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was going to be the worst Christmas ever, I was sure of it.

Christmas had always been the best day of the whole year at our house. When I was younger, it was because of the presents, of course, but as I got older, the day started to take on a different meaning. It was the only day of the whole year where all five of us – Mom, Dad, Darry, Soda, and I- spent the entire day together, from the time we woke up until the time we went to bed. We ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner together – all five of us – and nobody was worrying about work or school or, well, anything.

This year was just about the polar opposite. Every one of us was worried about everything.

I was worried that I'd get taken away from home – And I swear, Darry was worried I'd stay. Soda probably didn't know what to think – I know he loved me and wanted me to stay, but I know he respected Darry too. To be honest, I'd given up on any sort of happy Christmas – all I wanted and dared ever wish for was to wake up in my own bed the next day, still a part of my family. Other kids might have worried about coal in their stockings – I worried about Social Services knocking on the door on Christmas morning and hauling me away from the only people left on Earth that I cared about.

I wondered, briefly, if the Socs worried about anything on Christmas night – or if they were those people who had visions of sugurplums, and all that bullshit. I'd tried, a few times, to remember what the excitement leading up to Christmas had felt like with Mom and Dad still around… I'd close my eyes and for a second I'd start to remember – but then suddenly Darry would be growling at me about homework or dinner and all of a sudden reality would come rushing back. And reality – my reality - was that nothing was ever going to be the same again. No matter how hard we tried.

And, to be honest, it hardly even felt like anyone was trying. Darry had mentioned getting the Christmas stuff out of the crawl space, but had included something about it not happening until the house got straightened up. Soda had mentioned that they were selling trees down at the Baptist Church, but nothing had come of that. I'd done the best I could to neaten up the house but what with both of them coming home completely wiped out every night, I didn't have the nerve to tangle with either of them, asking about Christmas things. Half the time Darry and I had already gotten into it over something stupid, which just made Soda edgy when he got home, so I'd go off to bed and read until I fell asleep.

The fact was, however, it was three days until Christmas, and we weren't even trying. It's not the way Mom and Dad would have wanted it. They would have expected better from us.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Three days.

That's all I could think about. It echoed in my head as I hammered in the rows of shingles, taunting me. _Three days, three days, three days._

I wanted to run away. For the first time since taking custody of Soda and Pony, I felt unworthy of the trust they had in me. I had nothing to offer them at Christmas, and no time off or money to change the situation. I'd managed to work out a deal with the contractor who let me take one of the small pines on the job site that was set to be cut down anyway as the development I was working on expanded – but what the hell good was a Christmas tree with no gifts underneath it? Soda might understand – but Pony? Hell, even Pony might understand, but that's what I hated so much about the whole situation. Christ, when Soda and I were fourteen, we knew full well there would be presents for us on Christmas morning – we got to be kids.

Pony deserved to be a kid as long as I did. That's what was eating away at me. While I knew I could never take the place of our parents, I'd felt like I was doing a pretty good job or keeping things at home "normal."

But three days before Christmas - with no tree set up, no decorations, no _joy in the house - was not normal. Not by a long shot._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Curtis, can you cover 'til nine?"

I wanted to say no – I wanted to go home and try to figure out how to make Christmas happen in my house – but saying yes meant three hours overtime, and we needed that more than we needed me getting home early enough to put on Elvis's Christmas album and help Darry drag in the tree he'd called to say he'd gotten for free.

I worked the three extra hours – but my heart wasn't in it. Just around closing time – only a minute or so before I was planning to shut down the pumps, I heard the bell and glanced out the front window. It was an old clunker that had pulled up to the pump, a car in even worse shape than Two-Bit's. Expecting to see a kid in the driver's seat, beaming in the glow of his "new car" – one his parents weren't too worried about him wrecking in his first few months of driving – I was shocked to come face to face with Santa Claus.

This wasn't the fake looking, white-as-snow cotton-ball bearded Santa, either. This was a salt and pepper bearded, long haired gentleman. He wasn't wearing a Santa suit – he didn't have to. There was no need to play the part – he WAS the part.

"Fill it up, please, regular."

I stared.

"Son? You hear me? Fill 'er up, regular."

"Oh, yeah, no problem." I grabbed the nozzle and started unscrewing the gas cap.

"I suppose you were expecting a 'Ho Ho Ho' or something?"

I looked up, and goddamed, the guy was fucking merry. Never before in my life had I ever used the word, but there it was. I almost laughed. I must have looked goofy because he went on to explain.

"Just giving you a hard time – I get it all the time. I'm the Santa down at the Macy's in Tulsa… changed out of my suit at work. Santa's gotta sleep too, though – turns out Santa don't really live in the North Pole – he lives down by the river." The guy laughed and his laugh was contagious.

"So how's that – being Santa?" I asked, keeping an eye on the pump gauge. Lately it had been overfilling and the boss was a real pain about any spillage.

"Has its ups and downs," he answered. "Lots of kids wishing for stuff that probably ain't gonna happen. I never tell 'em no though – you never know. Shit happens."

I had to laugh. Of all people, it was pretty funny to hear those words coming from Santa's mouth.

"I'm serious, kid." Santa wasn't laughing. "I've seen it all."

"Me too," I answered. "All I want to see, anyway." The nozzle shut off properly and I placed it back in the pump, heading back to collect his money. He handed it over and I had to go back into the office to make change.

"Sixty cents is your change," I handed it through the window. "And hey, Merry Christmas, Santa."

"Keep the change," he refused it. "Any wishes you'd like me to put in for you? I'm close with the real big guy, you know."

"Thanks," I said, pocketing the change. "But nah," I answered. "Not unless the Big Guy knows the secret for making a perfect Christmas when nothing's perfect."

"Well, I'll pass along your question, but – in my experience – The secret to that - It's always hiding – it pops up when you least expect it. Just gotta keep your eyes open to see it."

"Well, believe me, Santa, I'll be lookin'."

"You do that, Sodapop. And you have yourself a merry Christmas." With that, he started the car, revved the engine, and was gone.

I assumed he'd known my name from the patch on my shirt. Yet, looking down, I realized that my jacket was zipped up well past my name patch.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX...XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I reached up to pull the cord just as the bus turned the corner. I almost couldn't – the first view of the cemetery gates nearly caused me to freeze, but I forced my arm up to tug on the cord.

"Cemetery!" the driver announced, and I scurried down the steps and out the door as it opened.

I hadn't been back since Mom and Dad's funeral, and I wasn't exactly sure why I was back right then. I was terrified, but I also knew that, somehow, for some reason, this was something I had to do.

I stood at the gate, knowing where I was supposed to go – knowing where they were – but unable to move for a moment. I felt tears forming, but I forced them back, took a deep breath, and started walking.

Johnny and Dallas were at the very back of the cemetery – the "poor cemetery" – buried side by side. It seemed impossible that that would happen – hell, it seemed like poor people died every second of every day – but somehow nobody had died and been buried between Johnny and Dal – so they'd scored adjoining plots.

I stood between them, trying to figure out what to say.

"Miss you guys," finally managed, a giant sob escaping, despite myself.

I waited – not like I was expecting an answer, but I needed a moment, anyway.

"Merry Christmas, guys." I realized that Christmas, for both of them, had never been much of anything to get excited about. "Hope you guys are having a party."

I stood for another moment, knowing there would be no reply.

"You guys take care," I managed to eke out without losing it. I stared down, hoping they'd send me some sort of message, but knowing it wasn't going to happen.

Finally I turned and headed over to the part of the cemetery that housed my parents' grave. I hadn't been back since the funeral, and the stone hadn't been ready then. I rubbed my hand along the top, kneeling to trace the engraving.

_Darrel Shaynne Curtis_

_Mary Elisabeth McIntyre Curtis_

We'd wanted to write "Beloved Parents" on the stone, but the cost of the extra engraving was money we couldn't spare, according to Darry.

I didn't want to cry – I wanted to believe I was too old, too mature, or just plain beyond that – but I was suddenly sobbing. I missed them – God, how I missed them, and I felt as though I'd failed them in the most horrible of ways. It was Christmas, and the family they'd worked so hard to build and pull together was falling apart, right at the time of year we'd all best come together.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, shaking with sobs, and leaning against the gravestone. "I'm so sorry. I want to fix it, but I don't know how. Please- somehow… please - help me fix it. I'll do anything. Please." Overcome, I sank down to the ground, burying my face in my hands, leaning against my parents' names.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I'd hoped to finish up with the job right after lunch, but it took longer than expected, and it was late afternoon before I was finally able to head home. I wanted to get home – to bring the tree in and set it up – to try and recreate some semblance of Christmases past for our family – but I had one other stop to make.

I tried to get to the cemetery every month, at least once, just to make sure the grass was being cut and nobody had vandalized Mom and Dad's grave, but I hadn't been since the beginning of October. The combination of heating bills and holidays had filled up my every free moment with work, and, though it was stupid and I knew it, I hadn't wanted to appear at their grave looking exhausted and miserable. Hell, I knew they couldn't see me – but I just couldn't bear the thought of them seeing me struggling.

This night, however, was different. I felt like a horrible failure, and I didn't know where else to turn. I needed to think, to clear my mind and figure out how to try to make things right again at home. It was with a very heavy heart that I turned into the cemetery. Needing some time to gather my thoughts, I parked a few rows away from Mom and Dad's grave and walked over, all the while trying to work out in my head how, once I got home, I'd try to get us all three to cooperate and get along to decorate the tree – the least we could do to try and honor the traditions our parents had tried so hard to build for us.

As I neared their gravestone, I was surprised to see a figure standing next to it, then almost doubling over, leaning on it, and sinking to the ground. He was talking, and I strained to hear.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and my breath caught, at the same time recognizing both the voice and the mannerisms.

"I'm so sorry," he continued, and I swear, I felt my heart breaking. "I want to fix it, but I don't know how. Please- somehow… please - help me fix it. I'll do anything. Please."

I couldn't believe it. I was the failure, and Pony was blaming himself. Trying not to startle him, I knelt by him, my hand on his back.

"Ponyboy." He looked up, more than surprised to see me, and I could see that he was struggling to look like he hadn't been crying.

"Darry… what're you doing here?"

"Pony… it ain't your fault. None of it. You don't have anything to be apologizing to them for. It was my job. To keep us together. I mean – us not getting along… it's my fault. I'm the one who's sorry."

I hugged him, hard, and felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I loved the kid so much – there was no reason for all the fighting we did. Both of us were trying so hard to do right by each other that we were letting the pressure drive us apart. I felt his heart beating against my chest and the tears rolling down his cheeks and wondered how we'd gotten to this place – hardly talking to each other for months, but suddenly crying together at our parents' grave.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX...XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Something about that Santa had flipped a switch in me, and I headed home dead set on making Christmas happen at our house. Pony and Darry could keep right on arguing, but come hell or high water, I was going to carry on the traditions that Mom and Dad had always done for us to make Christmas so special.

Pulling into the driveway, I was actually glad to see that nobody seemed to be home. I figured if I pulled out all the Christmas stuff, left it in the middle of the living room, and started to decorate, they'd realize it made just as much sense to take it out of the boxes and decorate as to put it back into storage. Darry and Pony could bicker all they wanted – but the fact is, those Christmas decorations held a lifetime worth of memories for all of us, and coming face to face with them, I doubted either of them could either put them away or come up with something worthwhile to argue about.

So I hoped.

The first box I opened had our stockings in it, so I carefully pulled them out and hung them on the mantle. Underneath were glass snowflakes that mom had always hung in the windows… I pulled them out carefully and started to hang them. As I hung the third one I was surprised to see that real snowflakes had started to fall outside – big, fat, beautiful snowflakes.

"I love you, Mom," I whispered, and suddenly wished Darry and Pony were home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I had no idea what Darry was doing there, or how he'd known I was there, but as he pulled me up and hugged me I lost it. He was telling me nothing was my fault – that it was his fault, and he was all wrong..

"No, Darry." I cried. "You've been doing everything. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been a problem."

He pulled away from me and tried to look me in the eye, and I immediately looked away.

"Ponyboy, look at me."

I didn't.

"Pony, please. Please, look at me."

It broke my heart, the tone of his voice, just begging me to look at him, so I did. I'd never realized how much his eyes matched Dad's. I'd always noticed the differences in them, but never the similarities.

"None of this is your fault, you get me? None. Everything's gonna be okay."

I couldn't answer – I was already crying and seeing tears in Darry's eyes just sent me over the edge. I'd always hoped he cared, but seeing it right there – the relief I felt in actually knowing it – rendered me totally speechless.

"I'm sorry, Dar." It barely came out as a whisper. "I'm really sorry I've made it so hard."

He pulled me back in against him, and I returned the hug.

"I haven't made it easy, either," he spoke into my ear. "Maybe we can just start over – just try all over again at making it work? What do you say we try to have a Christmas that's easy for everyone?"

"I think that sounds good," I answered, wiping my eyes, finally looking him in the eyes without turning away, and he squeezed my shoulders, pulling me up.

"I just happen to have a Christmas tree in the back of my truck," he smiled. "How 'bout we go home and set that up?"

"I think Mom and Dad would like that," I managed, pulling myself together.

"Me too," he agreed. "Let's make them proud, huh?"

He threw his arm around me and, as snow started falling quietly around us, we walked back together to the truck.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I had Elvis's Christmas album playing and I'd hauled two boxes down from the crawl space and was just coming down with number three when Pony and Darry finally got home. They came through the door laughing, which was a far and welcome cry from the bickering that usually punctuated their arrival.

"Need help with that?" Pony asked, coming over and immediately taking half the load off my hands.

"Soda, you think we should order out tonight?" I'd totally forgotten to start dinner, and normally that would send Darry over the edge, but he was realizing I'd let it slip and offering me a free pass… who _was this guy?_

"I can throw something together," I offered. I was sure I could come up with something… nobody really expected much of my meals to begin with.

"No… Let's just order out. Help me get the tree in first, though, okay?

"Alright." I set down the box Pony and I had been carrying and hesded out to the truck after Darry. We managed to wrangle the tree through the door and into the stand.

"Wow," Pony exclaimed. It was definitely a bigger tree than we'd had in the past.

"Is it okay?" Darry asked, unsure. I knew he'd gotten it free, from work.

"It's great," I answered. "Perfect, Darry. Let's find the ornaments." I started into one box while Pony and Darry each dove into another. We all rifled around for a few minutes.

"Found 'em," Darry said, as he lovingly lifted up a well-taped box.

We gathered around as he set it down and carefully cut the tape that sealed it shut. Finally, he pulled off the top to reveal at least a hundred painstakingly newspaper-wrapped ornaments.

We all observed a moment of silence, knowing it was mom who had wrapped them up last Christmas, and had assumed she'd be the one unwrapping them this one.

"Let's do it," Pony finally said, and the spell was broken. We all started carefully unwrapping the ornaments and putting them on the tree. For the first time in a long time, it felt like we were a team, working together toward a common goal. We joked, we nudged and tickled each other, and pretended to fight over the ornaments.

Then we reached the bottom of the box.

Painstakingly wrapped, each ornament in the bottom was personalized for each of us, one for each year. Mom had always insisted that we put up our own ornaments, so there was no more fighting. Pony put up his own, Darry his, and I hung my own. Each one was particularly special, as mom had handmade them for each of us, every year.

I was the last to go, hanging up my ornament from the year I was three, when the branch I'd hung it on suddenly weakened. The ornament fell to the floor, smashing.

All of us froze. I felt tears rising. One more connection I'd had to my mom was gone.

Finally Darry spoke.

"It's okay, Soda."

But it wasn't. I watched as he swept up the shards of glass, suddenly pausing and leaning down.

"What's this?" he asked, picking it up. I leaned in.

It was a piece of paper, tightly rolled, that had obviously been forced through the hole at the top of the glass ornament.

"You should have it." Darry handed it to me. "It was in your ornament."

I took it, slowly unwrapping it. It was two sheets of paper, folded together and rolled up. The longer one unwrapped first. I smoothed it out, immediately recognizing mom's handwriting, and read it aloud as Pony and Darry stood transfixed.

_Dearest Sodapop,_

_Two years ago, I was hanging an ornament that was given to me by your great-great grandmother. It meant a lot to me and when I dropped it and accidentally broke it, I was heartbroken. I felt like she was lost to me forever because the ornament was broken and gone. I never want my boys to feel that way, so I'm leaving you this note inside the ornament I made for you so you know that – this ornament was just a gesture. A tangible representation of the love I feel for you all- but you shouldn't need the ornament to exist to feel that. So long as the spirit of Christmas – the joy of the season stays alive with you and your families, I'm with you. Always, my boys, and I love you forever- that will never be gone, even long after I am._

_Love, Mom._

I managed to get through it without crying, when I realized there was another paper folded within the first. Slowly, I opened it. It was Dad's handwriting. Short, but sweet.

_I love you, buddy. You, Darry and Pony, Always. Love, Dad_

Pony reached out and shook the ornament that he had just put up, and it was clear there was something inside. Darry did the same, with the same result.

"Must e notes in all of them," Darry noted.

"Wow," Pony said, after a long silence. "It's almost like they knew…"

He stopped, but I could finish his sentence. It was almost like they knew what we needed. That, someday, they would be gone and we would be left. That we would be struggling to make Christmas work. That we'd need a sign. They'd sent one. And it was incredibly reassuring that there were many more signs, waiting – for whenever we needed them in years to come.

I was about to tell Pony that I knew what he meant, but as I turned back toward the tree, he was already up on the ladder, deep in discussion with Darry about placement of the tinsel.

_Discussion…not argument. Darry's hand was around Pony – not just assuring that he wouldn't fall, but holding him up- supporting him. Pony placed the tinsel and turned and actually smiled at Darry. One of the lights on the tree suddenly illuminated a piece of the broken ornament we'd missed with the dustpan, and it sparkled._

Suddenly, I understood exactly what the Santa I'd encountered that night had meant by keeping your eyes open for the Christmas spirit – that 'it pops up when you least expect it.'

There would be nothing spectacular under the tree the next morning – not much for any of us – but we'd already received the best gift we could ask for. Mom and Dad had reminded us about what was important. We'd all be spending Christmas together, and I doubted there'd be any fighting.

And it turned out that just being together - and getting along - was, secretly, all the three of us had really wanted.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Merry Christmas, Everyone! **

**~sama**


End file.
